


From Dean Winchester

by FallenBridesmaid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Addiction, Gen, M/M, References to Suicide, Underage Drinking, child prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:31:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenBridesmaid/pseuds/FallenBridesmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean writes letters to Sam, Gabriel, and many others. None of the letters are connected or in the same verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dear Gabriel

Dear Gabriel,  
Just so you know, I'm not writing this because it's you. I'm writing it because Sammy would be pissed of it was addressed to him. I've got it all planned out now. I'm not waiting until June. Just nine little white tablets and it'll all be over. Ironic isn't it? I've suffered through thirty years worth of monsters and shit, and what is finally going to kill me is some fucking aspirin. No demons or shifters or angels, just some Tylenol. I guess it's fitting in a way. I've always known I was sick and broken and I've always wanted to be cured. That's the purpose of medicine, right? To cure things? If nothing else, I'll feel like shit in the morning. Not that I don't every morning but this time it'll be psychical instead of emotional masquerading as psychical. I suppose I'm doing you a favor though, yeah? Saving you the trouble of killing me? If I fail, I'll gladly call you in the morning. I won't even be armed. I won't fight back, I promise. If Dad taught me anything, it was that I wasn't to fight back unless it was a supernatural being after me. That applies to you, seeing as you're an archangel and all, but I see you as human just as I saw him. Since I'm planning to die soon, I might as well get this off my chest. Dad hit me a lot when we were growing up. Always me, never Sam. I wouldn't let him anywhere near Sam when he was angry like that. I'd tell Sammy to hide in the bathroom and just try block out the noise. I'd try my damnedest to keep quiet, never uttering so much as a yelp. Afterwards, Dad would have passed out on one of the shitty hotel beds by then, I'd clean up as best as I could before I got Sam out of the bathroom. I protected him every time from Dad's wrath though. That's always been my job, protecting Sammy. But he doesn't need me to protect him anymore; that job falls to you now, Gabriel. You better take good care of him, give him a better life than I ever could have. Make sure he knows this wasn't his fault, that it was all mine. Make sure he knows I love him. Tell Cas I'm sorry for not being strong enough to hold on any long, that I'm sorry for being so damn unfixable. They both deserve better than I can give. And make sure Adam stays with Sammy, okay? I didn't save him for nothing; I saved him so Sammy wouldn't be alone. I know you don't really care at all, but it was kinda nice knowing you Gabriel. Take care of them for me. Thanks for listening. Goodbye,  
Dean Winchester


	2. Dear Sam

Sam, I know this isn't a foreign thing to you but I'm messed up. I'm fucked up in more ways than you can imagine. When we were growing up,when Dad left us alone for weeks on end, we ran out of money often. Remember how I always snuck into bars to get us money? Did you ever wonder how I got it? I played pool and since I had no money to wager, I wagered myself. Like if I lost, I'd owe them a blowjob. Yeah I know I was twelve and it was technically molestation on the guys' parts but it made sure we lived another week. They even paid me for the sexual favors. I'd make a hundred dollars a night. You know how long that fed us? That fed us for two weeks, Sammy! Two weeks was a long time to live while Dad was off hunting. 

Other than child prostitution, there's probably other things you don't know about me. You were way too young to notice most of it but never mind that. You at least knew that Dad was smashed when he was with us, right? Remember all those times I sent you to go play with the other kids in the lobby late at night, when dad was angry and stumbling? Do you know why I always wore makeup afterwards? Dad hit me, Sammy. Always. I can't really remember a memory with Dad that doesn't stir up old aches and pains of bruises and broken bones. That was shit observation skills you had. Like seriously, how do you not notice you're brother's wrist bending at a weird angle or a limp that he never had before? It seemed everyone but you noticed all my weird injuries. The hotel managers always eyed me suspiciously and glared at Dad when we checked out and the waitresses at the diners would always knock off a lot of money on our checks when I took you to restaurants. But that was only because they could make out the black eye beneath the concealer on my face. Now keep in mind, none of that was ever your fault. Dad only hit me because I failed in protecting you or I needed to guard you better. Sometimes it was just because I messed up a little. Like if he had seen that you hadn't eaten for a few days, that earned three punches to the face and five kicks to the ribs. Never mind the fact that I went hungry for you most of the time. He didn't care if I ate or not. Just so long as Mom's baby was taken care of. That's how he always phrased it, "Your mother died to protect that boy and you don't even feed him? How dare you disgrace her memory like that!". Yes it hurt, but it was deserved. I learned my lessons and sometime after you left for college, he stopped hitting me. Though I still have scars from some of the more severe beatings. 

When I was fifteen I got into some pretty heavy shit. I'm not going to lie and say I was a perfect young adult, I was the complete opposite. You know what I was at fifteen? I was a heroin addict. Before you ask, yes it was shit. It made me feel happy, lightheaded and carefree for about an hour at a time before the high wore off and the craving for more set in. Sure, dealers were everywhere. Every shady motel had at least one heroin supplier somewhere. I paid them with sex as well, I couldn't take away from your food money. It kept my addiction in check and it kept you well fed, everybody wins right? Wrong. As my addiction grew, so did my body's tolerance for the drug. Meaning I had to have bigger quantities at a time, resulting in lots of sex with shady men behind shitty motels. My addiction got bad, Sam. By the time I had lived through the withdrawals, three weeks of detox-which was puking your guts out every two seconds and feeling like you lived in the artic from shivering so fucking much- I looked at myself in the mirror. I think I weighed like eighty pounds-which meant I'd lost like one hundred and twenty pounds from the drugs- and I looked dead. I was pale as fuck, my eyes were sunken in, my cheekbones looked like they'd cut you if you touched them. Seriously, it was horrifying. And the weirdest thing was, you and Dad were oblivious. Yes I still got hit, yes I bruised more easily and I was probably too drugged up to feel it but goddamnit someone should've noticed. I was a walking skeleton who was high all the time for like three years and you still didn't notice. 

When I was twenty or so, I started drinking to replace the cravings I still had for heroin. It was a fabulous substitute, still is to this day, and it didn't have side effects. I gained my weight back on and everything. Hangovers were terrible, so as soon as I woke up, it was back to the liquor for me. I think I stopped having hangovers after about a year. That's why I'm never hung over to this day, I'm immune to it. The best thing about alcohol is it numbs the pain and makes your head fuzzy. You don't think straight, you don't feel anything, it's wonderful. I love it. You know, after you left, it's all I had aside from hunting. I had a routine. Get up, get drunk, go on a hunt, check in at Stanford. Then repeat it all the next day. I had a good thing going. But then Dad didn't come home for a few days and I had to ruin everything for you an me both by taking you from college. I killed your girl, almost got you killed too. Everything went to shit. Then eight years worth of shit and countless lives lost later, here we are. 

I got your boyfriend killed by Lucifer. Your life is ruined forever and has been for eight years. You could've been a lawyer, Sammy. You could've had a nice family with Jessica. You could've lived in a nice little house and have kids to come home to at the end of the day. But no, I had to ask for your help, didn't I? I couldn't have just looked for Dad alone? I could've. But I missed you too much to go alone. I just used Dad as an excuse and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry I ruined your life because I'm selfish. I'm sorry you've died countless times because of me. I'm sorry you met Ruby, I'm sorry you were chased around by Alistair, I'm sorry you were tricked into starting the Apocalypse, I'm sorry for it all. Everything is because I got you from Stanford that night. It's all my fault your life is so fucked up now. I never wanted this for you and I ended up causing it. I'm just so sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry and I can't ever fix it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. 

I'm sorry,   
Dean


End file.
